Daily Thanks for Once in a Lifetime Moments
by Deathly Noted
Summary: One Thanksgiving, two friends, and incalculable gratitude just for the fact that they're together.


"Hey Mello, look what I got," Matt said, his words mingling with the sound of a paper bag crinkling and crunching between his fingers. Mello looked up from his laptop, though his eyes remained as glazed as the computer screen before him as he continued to consider the Kira case, only affording Matt the bare minimum of consideration as per usual – but perhaps even that was notable, because barring his own inferiority complex and all of its physical and mental manifestations, most things earned no notice whatsoever from Mello. As for Matt, their semi-relationship thrived only because Matt was the complete opposite of Mello and could subsist on very little recognition of his presence or efforts, and he was content to be with Mello even without a word exchanged between them for days or even years at a time, let alone a word of thanks. But it was much too late in the game to be saying things as trite as 'thank you' or 'I'm sorry', so all of those unspoken sentiments of forgiveness and love would have to wait until they were dead and someone else could finally say it for them, even if it was read scripted from a bible by a priest who hardly knew them. Certainly Mello wasn't going to start now.

"I don't like those," Mello returned bluntly, referring to the cheap frozen dinners that Matt had directed his attention to, though already his attention was wandering back to his laptop and the reports that he had dragged up that might have been related to L.

"I know you don't, but humor me," Matt said, already popping one of the dinners into the microwave, one of the few appliances in their apartment that saw any use aside from Mello's laptop and Matt's numerous gaming consoles. The nuking machine made an odd, buzzing sound that perhaps indicated that it was breaking or already broken and leaking radiation even as they spoke, but if anything was going to kill Matt and Mello it probably wasn't radiation poisoning, so they both went about as usual, Mello recrossing his legs where he sat on the sofa as Matt continued to mill about the attached kitchenette.

"Really, Matt, we've been through this before. The day I eat healthily is the same day you quit smoking," Mello pointed out dryly, tensing slightly as he thought he spotted a worthwhile bit of information amidst the drivel, but then it was nothing after all, and he relaxed into the cushions again, pushing himself forward on a pitiful amount of sleep from so many hours ago that its already questionable restorative benefits were basically expired.

"It's not healthy, it's a frozen fucking dinner, Mello. It has at least thirty-two preservatives and artificial sweeteners, oh and maybe some rat poison if we're lucky," Matt said even more sarcastically, because if there was one thing Matt excelled at over Mello, it was being a sarcastic, complaining pain in the ass.

"Tempting, but I'm still not eating it. Chocolate, now," Mello demanded, holding out one gloved hand expectantly, his slanted eyes still transfixed on the computer screen and twitching his fingers impatiently when Matt didn't comply immediately.

"I knew this would happen so I already hid it. No dessert until after dinner," Matt countered, and Mello looked up, shocked and appalled at Matt's blatantly insurgent behavior. Usually Matt was more subtly, subversively obnoxious, so this was definitely the exception to the rule and not exactly a welcome surprise, as Mello was much more inclined to doling out unpleasantries than taking them with good grace.

"I don't remember signing up for a Stepford wife, Matt. We either play by my rules, or we don't play at all," was all Mello said, his voice deadly now as he snapped the lid of the laptop shut with a sound that brought to mind someone's neck breaking in two, and he leaned forward now, looking very much like a black panther ready to spring up and pounce upon his prey the moment it made a mistake.

"Do you even know what today is?" Matt said incredulously, meeting Mello's eyes through his goggles with a completely unperturbed appearance as per usual, whereas Mello's expression was quickly flickering from an angry glare to wide-eyed, head-cocked confusion as he considered his friend.

"It's not your birthday, is it?" Mello questioned, actually a bit apprehensive about whatever he had forgotten about because if Matt cared enough to bring it up, he knew it must have been important. Matt didn't get caught up in the little things, but when it came to the big ones, he was unusually passionate. On the plus side that meant Matt was incredibly loyal and dedicated to Mello, would trust his judgment essentially unconditionally or at least not argue against it, and he was quick to forgive almost all of the petty insults and unacknowledgments that Mello spewed in his direction on an hourly basis. On the downside, that meant that if Mello did do something that Matt saw as a genuine fuck up, Matt was worse than a PMSing girl whose boyfriend had forgotten their anniversary in terms of his whining complaints and cold-shouldering, which he had perfected right down to an art and of course Mello had never had any patience for analyzing art. If at all possible, he would like to avoid it, especially since he needed Matt's help on the Kira case if he wanted to have any hope in hell of beating Near.

"That's in February, you fucktard," Matt responded, sounding somewhere between amused and annoyed as he took one frozen dinner out of the microwave and popped in the second, which was about the most active one could expect to see Matt being for the next month or so unless Mello specifically demanded something of him. Mello racked his brain for something, anything else that could have Matt acting up like this, feeling increasingly frustrated and unpleasantly stupid, especially when he began to wonder whether this really was the anniversary of the day they'd met or something like that. It wasn't like they were boyfriend or girlfriend, so of course they didn't have an anniversary, Mello thought with a visible grimace and pushed away the idea almost immediately. Finally, as the scent of turkey reached his nostrils, it began to register with Mello on a sensory level first of all, and then the logical explanation followed quickly thereafter.

"It's Thanksgiving, isn't it," Mello conjectured, the only reason he knew about the silly North American holiday being that he recalled a five-year-old Matt crying over not being able to celebrate it with his parents a few days after Matt first arrived at Wammy's House, which was the only time he remembered seeing Matt weep. That is, unless the involuntary tears of pain that had formed in Matt's eyes after Mello accidentally kicked him solidly in the balls that one time counted, but it probably didn't. In any case, it made sense now that Matt was taking today so seriously. If his parents died around the time of the holiday, and Thanksgiving like other holidays was inextricably tied to concepts of family and tradition, then of course Matt would associate it as an anniversary of sorts of his family's death and essentially the death of himself as 'Mail Jeevas' rather than as 'Matt'. Matt had never said as much, but somewhere behind his usual laid-back demeanor and the I-don't-dare-give-a-damn attitude, things like that probably still mattered to him, even after all of these years. You didn't really get over that sort of thing regardless of how much time passed, just as the fact that Mello's own mother had abandoned him had probably contributed vastly to his perpetual feelings of inadequacy, even if he was loath to admit it because mommy issues oversimplified and stupefied his whole existence a bit too much for his liking.

"No shit it's Thanksgiving, do you live in Near's asshole or something?" Matt said shortly, crossing striped sleeves on the kitchen counter acting as a barrier between himself and Mello on the sofa below and just looking at him. Most people would've found it uncomfortable to be stared at the way Matt sometimes did to him, but in all honesty, Mello liked it, liked knowing that he was all but the center of Matt's world, even as he made a show of glaring back at his friend for his brusque words. The timer on the microwave beeped eventually, interrupting whatever was being silently exchanged between them, and Matt shuffled off to the side to take the now steaming turkey dinner out of the microwave. He tossed it more so than placed it across from the other one on the small kitchen table, then searched through a few old take-out bags before finally finding two still wrapped plastic forks and setting them out on the table as well. There was nothing domestic or traditional about it, in fact if Mello hadn't known Matt so well he would've dismissed it all as silly and trivial, but Mello knew better, and still silently, he stood up, stretching out and feeling autumn chill hit his bare midriff as he did so.

"Fine, I'll eat it, but only to get my chocolate back," Mello said, as if to nullify any kindness or consideration for Matt's feelings that might have been lurking beneath the surface of his actions, but Matt smiled knowingly as he seated himself across from Mello at the dingy, scuffed up table in their equally shabby apartment and even more battered lives. The moment felt almost surreal, because celebration, even a rather half-assed and last minute one that was being performed beneath a flickering lightbulb rather than candlelight at almost midnight, was not the kind of thing that their existence as orphans trained to take down the worst serial murderer in history generally provided for. Mello reached to pick up his fork, but Matt stopped him with a hand over his own, and it perhaps lingered there for a moment before darting back to Matt's side of the table although there was no squeeze or caress to the gesture, and if anything it was more of a reprimanding tap.

"What?" Mello said, annoyed and on the verge of losing his patience. First Matt wanted him to eat the damned turkey dinner, now he didn't, even though he was supposed to be the wishy-washy one, not Matt. Matt was supposed to be the constant, the anchor that Mello could cast whenever he was about to drift off into the oblivion of his own self-hatred and bring him back to the reality that someone in this unforgiving, unrelenting world actually had his back. Even when everyone else was kicking him down, Mello could count on the fact that Matt would be there to offer a hand and pick him back up again, or at least he was willing to let Mello drag him down into hell and keep him company there.

"We're supposed to say what we're thankful for first," Matt explained, then hesitated, looking off to the side as he continued, "So, well, thanks."

Mello blinked at his friend, for once wordless and unsure what to do in the face of such a statement that really didn't say much, but certainly suggested it. Then instinct, as usual, took over, and Mello said only, "Let's eat already," his tone more so than his words implying a reciprocation of Matt's sentiments. There was only one thing Mello was grateful for in this world, and he was sitting across from him at a tiny table, their knees and elbows almost touching as they started in on the too chewy turkey and sawdust mashed potatoes that neither of them liked very much. Even so, they ate it all, right down to the last bite, their eyes meeting occasionally across the table but still silent because they'd already said it all after so many years of knowing one another, all but the most important parts. Maybe tonight – but then it was already past midnight, and the spell must have ended because Mello returned to the sofa to type away at his laptop and Matt likewise to his video game, tossing a chocolate bar in Mello's direction before seating himself a good few feet away at the opposite end of the sofa. After a few moments Mello put his boots up, closing most of the distance between them with the sole of his shoe on Matt's thigh, and even though his mind was already wandering back to Near and defeat and what he needed to do, on some level, deeper still, Matt was always with him, and Mello didn't need a holiday to realize or appreciate that fact on a daily basis. Even though he could never really bring himself to say it, hopefully the frozen turkey, the putrid taste of which Mello was currently trying to expunge with the darkest chocolate he owned, had said enough for a lifetime – or at least until next year, if they made it that far. And, well, if they did... maybe Mello wouldn't mind after all.

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><p><strong>AN:** Nothing like getting up early and writing MelloxMatt fluff to start off your Thanksgiving on a nice, warm-and-fuzzy note. XD Hope you liked it, and thanks as always for reading and reviewing, but especially today! Happy holidays! ^_^


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